Midgar's Bells
by icor
Summary: [Cloud x Aerith] There are no bells in Midgar to call the faithful.


There are no bells in Midgar to call the faithful - and even if there were he'd be the first to know – yet the air is always rich with noise in the early mornings, the incessant ramblings and idle gossip managing to filter in from the Edge, only ceasing when it rains. Rain, polluted and unrelenting drums against the broken windows of the Church and seeps in through the cracked walls; more and more often it seems to be raining.

It hits the pavements and drips from the canopy of a wrecked city, still somehow managing to dampen his face long after he closes the ridiculously heavy oak doors, and he shudders in the cold winter air he's become so accustomed to; not by choice at all, no—it's more like an addiction. His bed is nothing more than a thick blanket spread over the hard wooden floor with a duvet to cover him, and out of habit he pulls off his navy shirt to make his pillow; of course he trembles more now, but the problem soon remedies itself once he crawls in between the sheets.

Cloud Strife often wonders how his life came to be like this; he, who should be (_is_) the greatest hero, reduced to living on the floor of an abandoned old church, purely because of ability to _let go_ of the damn past.

Sometimes he wonders what it would be like if the bells did chime, and aside from the obvious – far more early mornings for him – _she _would have to be there. Ironically, if she were there then he would not find himself drifting, letting his life rot away as he mingles with ghosts; rather, his life might be a happy one.

But then again, Cloud has never lived his life particularly well.

As a child it had all been a stream of loneliness and misplaced emotions; death and confusion plagued him, and five years of it disappeared in a flash. In the back of his mind he vaguely remembers his best friend dying before his eyes.

And yet, while she was there it was almost as if none of that so much as mattered; when she was there he could finally breathe again, and there was nothing more to it. But life had never been kind to him, and neither was death; after it so maliciously stole her away he found himself aching to be in that state again.

Her death is often described as a sacrifice, one which the planet could not have survived without, but more often it is described as being cruel and unfair. She did not experience anything of a last breath, and so was not allowed to spite the world in her final moments, nor was she allowed to gently speak of love. The planet did not care for its last living child, and her death was over in a second; the girl was dead long before she fell into his shaking arms.

However, no one ever describes her death as heartbreaking.

Aerith Gainsborough was just like him; the only difference was she was allowed to escape from her half-lived life. From an early age it had been nothing but unspeakable abuse, and then she was forced into the monotonous confines of Midgar. She smiled often but was happy rarely, and at times it seemed she only lived her life for the last few weeks. Unlike Cloud's, no one would celebrate her life; he was the hero who had twice saved the planet, yet she was a mere flower girl. It was as if she had never existed, but in the hearts of a few.

The reality is very different. In actuality, she is always there. When they remembered it was because she prayed, and when he drew himself out of the Lifestream it was because she pulled him; when the rain fell down and healed the diseased it _was_ her, and when he tore through Bahumut's horrific power it was her hand he held.

But to Cloud, it is still much, much more than that. When he yelled she would sooth him, and when the world was a delusion she would inspire him; when he bled she would heal him, when he was angry she would take his punches, when he sinned she would forgive him.

Yet, it all ended on that day; on that day when he cried, and she was not there to wipe his tears away.

She had never been his lover, nor had she ever been his to lose; and yet, he knew inside that something had been torn away from him. Perhaps it was something he should never had possessed to bring with—he was, after all, only a puppet. The others could not understand how he could be so content to live in his sadness.

Of all the people he had ever met, Cloud was sure it was her hand he'd never have to let go of.

As his eyes shut and the rain eventually ceases, he listens intently to his own breathing and the harrowing silence. There's nothing he can say, do or think now that will put his mind at ease, and while he cannot wait for Midgar's bells forever, he'll wait that long for Aerith.


End file.
